Something More
by o-Vana-o0
Summary: Keladry Cousland chose to follow the path that would leave her alive with the man she loved. But an Archdemon does not shuffle off the mortal coil easily; what cost must she pay for killing the beast? Alistair/FemCousland
1. Chapter 1

((Obligatory Author's Note: I own nothing of Dragon Age or the characters; I own nothing but my character choices with the Human Female Noble. The name Keladry comes from Tamora Pierce's _Protector of the Small_ quartet, a brilliant series of books))

**Chapter One**

Flashes of light…metal on metal…screams of the dying…bright, white light…an explosion!

Alistair's eyes flew open and he gasped for breath as he looked around frantically. Dear Maker, where was he?

Before the darkness took him, he had been on top of Fort Drakon, fighting the Archdemon. Keladry, his fellow Grey Warden and lover, had been there, with Leliana and Morrigan. Then the white light, the explosion, and now…

Now he was in a fairly large room, with windows letting in light and a warm breeze. He was in a soft bed, with warm covers pulled up to his chin, and a soft pillow under his head. He tried to sit up and groaned aloud as his body protested his movement loudly.

"Easy, Alistair," a familiar voice said. Alistair felt himself relax a little as he turned his head to look at Wynne. The elder enchantress sat in a chair beside his bed, watching him. When he looked at her, she smiled and nodded. "You took rather a bad fall," she continued, rising and resting her cool hand on his forehead.

"Is that why I feel like an ogre bashed me about?" Alistair asked, wincing at all the various aches and pains.

"Quite likely," Wynne agreed. "You had some broken bones. Your armor kept you from getting too badly cut, but it couldn't save you from the effects of being thrown against a wall. We saw the end of the fight from the gates and came running as soon as we could clear the darkspawn from our path."

Alistair thought back, frowning a little. "I remember fighting the Archdemon," he said slowly. "We got it down, badly wounded, but I'd been knocked down a few times already. I was so sluggish…couldn't move fast enough." He sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain. "Keladry!" he exclaimed. "She killed it! Where is she? Oh Maker, is she alive?"

"Peace, Alistair," Wynne said, gently pushing against his shoulder and making him lie down again. When he settled, she said, "Yes, she's alive."

Alistair sagged back onto the pillows, limp with relief. "I thought I'd lost her," he said softly. "She killed it; stuck that starmetal sword into it and tore its head to shreds. That was the light you saw."

"And the explosion?" Wynne asked quietly.

"When she ripped the sword from its head," Alistair said absently. Then his eyes widened and he stared at Wynne. "Is she all right?" he asked, feeling his heart rate pick up again. "Maker's breath, she was right on top of that thing when it blew up!"

"Ah, that explains much," Wynne said. "When we arrived, you and Leliana were flung against a wall, unconscious. Keladry…" She bit her lip and looked at her hands.

"What?" Alistair begged.

"We had to dig her out of the Archdemon's remains," Wynne said flatly. "Jump did most of that; he was frantic to find her. When we finally found her, we had to get her right to the healers. They didn't think she would make it through the night; the explosion drove pieces of the Archdemon's body into her skin, and shattered some of her bones. But she's stronger than they thought; she pulled through and is resting now."

"Resting?" Alistair asked, his lips feeling numb. "How long has it been?"

"Three days," Wynne said. "She hasn't woken yet, but I'm not troubled about that; her spirit is intact within her, and her body is healing. Given time, she will wake."

Alistair absorbed the information, then slid to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over. "I want to see her," he said.

Wynne nodded, unsurprised. "Wait a moment," she urged. "You are still weak from blood loss and the healing we had to do on you, and I am not strong enough to support you."

That was good sense, so Alistair waited while Wynne went to the door and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, she returned with Sten. The qunari looked down at the Grey Warden and almost smiled. "So you yet live," he said.

"Yes," Alistair said, eyeing the big man warily. While Sten was devoted to Keladry, calling her _Kadan_, Alistair got the sense Sten never quite trusted him. Well, the qunari was hardly in a minority with that opinion, and right now, he didn't care what Sten thought of him.

"And you wish to see your fellow Grey Warden," Sten continued. A troubled look flicked across his face. "I have rarely seen one with such injuries survive," he said bluntly. "She will not look as you remember her."

"I still want to see her," Alistair said stubbornly.

Sten sighed and looked at Wynne. "It appears Oghren owes you five silvers," he said.

"And I will collect from him as soon as I am sure the Grey Wardens are settled," Wynne said with a rather self-satisfied smile. "I told him Alistair would want to see Keladry as soon as he woke."

"I'm still sitting right here, you know," Alistair said.

"So you are," Wynne smiled. "Come."

Alistair didn't need a second invitation. He got up and wobbled a little on his weak legs. The healing done on him must have been really thorough; though he ached all over, he saw that there were no open wounds, and he didn't feel the familiar stab of broken bones. Unfortunately, such a deep healing took a lot from the one being healed. He had a feeling he was going to be rather weak in the legs for a while.

Sten offered him an arm for support, and Alistair snickered to himself as he thought, _"What, does this mean we're going steady now, Sten?" _He kept his comment to himself, though; he doubted Sten would get the joke. Instead, he took the arm and walked out of his room, Wynne leading the way. He felt rather odd, being out of armor for the first extended time in a while. He wore a soft sleeping shirt and trousers, and his feet were bare. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to move around for more than a few minutes without automatically adjusting for the weight of a sword and shield.

Keladry's room was just down the hall from his. Alistair could tell which was hers right away; Zevran lounged just outside the door, looking lazy and bored. Only someone who had traveled with the assassin would notice his flicking eyes and realize his laziness was that of a cat waiting for the mouse to peep out of its hole. Wynne opened the door for Alistair, and the Crow and Grey Warden exchanged brief nods as Alistair passed.

Leliana was in Keladry's room, sitting beside her bed with a book in her hand. Though she had presumably been knocked about as much as Alistair, she looked a little better than he felt. She wore a light blue dress that complimented her red hair, and when she looked up from her reading, Alistair saw the bruises fading on her face. "He's awake!" the bard exclaimed happily. "Praise the Maker!"

Alistair coughed, a little uncomfortable, and smiled as he leaned against the doorframe. Sten released him and went back out into the hallway, where he took up a guarding position. "Yeah, guess it wasn't time for me to die yet," he said, trying for a note of levity. "How is…" His eyes flicked to Keladry's bed, and he stopped breathing.

His beloved was lying on her back, her eyes closed and her red hair spread over the pillow. Her face was as bruised as Leliana's, with a few cuts on her cheeks and forehead. But his attention was caught and held by her bedding. Unlike him, she wasn't covered with thick blankets. A wire frame over her small body held a very thin sheet over her, presumably protecting her from getting too cold without touching her body. The implications of that…he'd seen patients who were badly burned covered like that before.

Alistair felt his knees go weak, and the edges of his vision went grey. He swallowed hard and looked at the floor for a second, trying to regain his composure and his strength. When he felt he had a handle on himself, he walked to Keladry's bedside and sat on the edge of her bed. The bed was enormous, taking up easily half of the room; he had to scoot a bit to get close enough to actually see Keladry.

From there, he had an unparalleled view under the sheet, and he thought he was going to vomit for a moment. Wynne had done her best to describe what had happened, but what words could prepare Alistair for what met his eyes? Under the sheet, Keladry was completely bare, leaving nothing to the imagination.

To be perfectly blunt, the young Grey Warden looked like she'd fallen into a pit of blades and rolled around a few times. Most of her body was covered with scabbing cuts, and pieces of flesh seemed to be missing entirely. And she was terribly skinny. She'd always been slender, but this looked more like starvation; her ribs stood starkly against her skin, as did her hipbones.

"How are you feeding her?" he asked, his voice husky.

"The same way we fed you," Wynne said. "We mash the food until it is soft enough to slide down her throat without her having to be awake. Her body can swallow without her being awake, but it can't manage chewing."

That explained his sore throat, and why Keladry looked so skinny. Between the energy needed to heal her and the light diet—especially since she was still in the voracious eater stage of being a new Grey Warden—she simply didn't have any reserves left. He swallowed again. "What can I do?" he asked.

"She is well guarded," Wynne said. "Zevran pointed out, and we agreed, that if any of Arl Howe's old associates wanted to hurt her, this would be the best time for them. Sten, Oghren and Zevran take turns guarding her night and day. Leliana reads to her, and I monitor her health." There was a soft whine from the foot of the bed and Jump sat up, looking at Alistair with his intelligent eyes. "Of course, how could I forget?" Wynne asked with a smile. "Jump guards her from in here; if anyone manages to get past the door guards, he will do whatever necessary."

"So what can I do?" Alistair repeated.

"The best thing you can do is be with her," Leliana said softly. "She worries about you."

Alistair's eyebrows went up. "I thought you said she hasn't woken," he said.

"She hasn't," Wynne said. "But she dreams a great deal. Your name is spoken most often, usually with great agitation. Something about watching her back while she worked the ballista?"

Alistair nodded, still looking at Keladry's pale face. Her skin was almost as white as the sheet covering her. "The ballista was the key to our success," he said. "Without them, we couldn't have gotten as close as we did to actually kill it."

"Interesting," Leliana said, in the tone of someone who is making extensive mental notes for some future project. "When she dreams, she thrashes about quite a bit. We think she can sense, even in her dream, that you are not close by her. This distresses her."

"That's all I can do?" Alistair asked, a lump forming in his throat. "Just…be beside her?"

"Unless you developed a healing ability when I wasn't looking," Wynne said briskly. She softened when she saw Alistair's stricken expression. "She has a small army of healers tending to her," she said. "I remain through the day because she is my friend and I care about her, but she is healing well on her own." Alistair made a soft incredulous noise, and Wynne nodded. "I am glad you were not here when we first brought her into this room," she said. "Except for her face, she was hardly recognizable as a human. Her armor did a lot to keep her safe, but even dragonskin can only handle so much. We packed the armor off to Master Wade for repairs as soon as we knew she would live through the night."

Alistair's sight misted over, and he nodded a little. Moving with extreme care, he slid closer to Keladry and stretched out next to her, feeling the strain in his body from his own healing.

Wynne and Leliana exchanged a look over his head. Leliana shrugged a little. "If you want me to surrender my chair, I will," she offered.

"What?" Alistair asked, lifting his head a little.

Wynne considered a moment, then shook her head a little. "No, her cuts are healed enough," she decided. "And if she feels Alistair beside her, she may not thrash in her sleep."

"What's the problem?" Alistair asked.

"I was a little concerned that you might roll over in your sleep and hurt her," Wynne said. "But it should be all right. Just try to remember the wire frame is there; it won't do you any good to try and hug that."

Alistair smiled and closed his eyes as he let his head rest on the pillow again. "Maker, I'm tired," he murmured.

"Good," Wynne encouraged gently. "Now, sleep. You have your own healing to finish."

She might have said more, but Alistair missed it; he slipped into sleep gratefully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

When Alistair woke up again, he felt a moment of disorientation. The windows in this room were smaller than in his, so the light seemed narrower, somehow hazy as it lit the sheet contraption over Keladry. Someone had been kind enough to tuck a blanket around Alistair, and he sighed as he snuggled deeper into it. He felt better than he had the last time he woke up, less achy, more energized. He wondered if Wynne had come through and worked a healing spell on both of them.

The thought of Keladry drew his eyes to her immediately, and he jerked a little when he looked at her bruised and cut face. But all that disappeared for him when he looked at her eyes and realized she was awake and looking at him. There was a deep sadness in her eyes he hadn't seen there for a long time, not since the first time she talked about her dead family. "Hello," he said softly, rolling onto his side to see her better.

"Hello," Keladry replied. Her voice was barely louder than a breath. But, praise the Maker, it was _her_ voice. "You all right?"

"Maker's blood, Keladry," Alistair said, tears filling his eyes. "I'm all right. A bit achy, but just fine."

The corners of her mouth trembled as she tried to smile. "Good," she whispered. She shifted a little and hissed in pain. "What happened?" she asked.

Alistair gave her the brief rundown on events since they had defeated the Archdemon, though he tried to gloss over what Wynne had said about Keladry's state when they found her. But as always when confronted with her steady hazel gaze, he finally told her everything she wanted to know.

"Wondered why I hurt so bad," Keladry remarked. "Not surprised." She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. When she opened her eyes again, she was focused, more alert. "Any idea how the rest of the kingdom is?" she asked.

"I barely made it here before passing out again," Alistair confessed. "I didn't get as battered as you, but I was still pretty tired."

Keladry nodded and smiled a little. "Pansy," she murmured, obviously teasing him.

"Daisy, actually," Alistair corrected with a grin.

She laughed softly, then grimaced as her stomach rumbled. "Think I could get food?" she asked.

Alistair didn't feel like moving. Even with the contraption between them, he felt more at peace when he was at her side. "Hey, Jump," he called softly. The dog got up from his place at the foot of the bed and looked quizzically at the two humans on the bed. "One of the others is outside the door," Alistair explained to Keladry.

She was always quick on the uptake, and he saw her smile that little smile again before turning her head to Jump. "Would you get whoever's outside the door?" she asked.

Jump grinned a doggy grin and padded to the door. He pushed it open with his paw and woofed softly. Alistair heard a murmur from outside the door, and another soft bark. A moment later, Alistair heard a soft yelp from outside the door, and Jump reappeared, pulling Zevran by the hem of his tunic. "I take it you are awake and back to your old tricks," the assassin said to Keladry with dry humor.

"I never left my old tricks," Keladry returned in exactly the same tone. "I'm hungry."

Zevran glanced at Alistair and sighed. "All right," he said. "I'll ask Wynne what you can eat."

"Something rather more appetizing than the usual invalid fare," Keladry said, lifting her head a little as Zevran headed for the door. "If there's gruel, I will be upset! There will be displeasure!"

Zevran laughed as he walked out the door and closed it behind him. Keladry let her head relax again and smiled at Alistair. "I hate gruel," she explained. Her face relaxed, and he saw just how tired she was. "Sorry," she murmured. "No strength left."

Alistair reached out and gently stroked her hair. "You've been through a lot, love," he said softly as she closed her eyes. "You do need to rest."

"I need to eat too," Keladry pointed out, opening one eye.

Alistair couldn't argue with that, so he didn't try. "You are rather too skinny at the moment," he said with a chuckle.

Keladry opened both eyes and raised an eyebrow at him. "That bad?" she asked. She looked down her body and stared for a moment. "Maker's blood," she whispered. Her head tipped back a little, and he thought he saw tears gathering in her eyes. She blinked rapidly before sighing. "That bad."

"On the bright side, now you'll be able to eat food that's not mashed," Alistair pointed out.

Wynne's arrival at that moment saved Keladry from having to answer. "Keladry, my dear," the mage said, going to Keladry's side and lightly touching her shoulder. "How do you feel?"

The young Grey Warden smiled wryly. "Like I was sealed in a barrel and rolled down an endless flight of stairs," she said.

"You mean like when Oghren…?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Keladry replied, cutting him off with a little shudder. "Anyway. If I never fight an Archdemon again, I will be perfectly content."

Wynne and Alistair laughed. "Lucky for us it'll probably be a couple centuries before the next Blight," Alistair pointed out.

Zevran entered then, carrying a small tray of food. To Keladry's delight, there was no sign of gruel; apparently, the assassin had passed along Keladry's comment. The food was still soft, but edible by her standards: soft bread and butter, several kinds of fruit, and a chicken soup. Alistair had to help her eat; she was too weak to sit up, making eating the soup rather entertaining, but she managed to eat everything on the tray. Her stomach satisfied, she drifted off into sleep again.

Wynne and Alistair exchanged an amused glance before Alistair yawned and followed his beloved back into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Now that she was awake and able to eat stronger food again, Keladry's recovery sped swiftly along. By the third day, she was sitting up in bed and feeding herself. Alistair only left her side when necessary, as he knew she could still scarcely believe they'd both made it through alive; her occasional nightmare proved that all too vividly.

On the fourth day, she set her spoon down on the tray and looked at him. "Did you feel it, when the Archdemon died?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her and nicked a roll from her tray. "After the explosion, I didn't feel much of anything," he said. "I was busy being unconscious."

"It died before that," Keladry said with an impatient gesture. "The explosion was just that body's realization that the spirit was gone. No, it died when that light started."

Alistair considered a moment and frowned. "Actually, yes," he said. "I felt something…a tug, almost, when the light started."

Keladry looked at her tray and shuddered. "It tried to go into me," she confessed very softly.

"What?" Alistair stared at her.

She nodded wearily and looked at him. "I felt it when I thrust Starfang into its head," she said. "By the way, did Starfang survive the explosion?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Your armor did; they sent it to Master Wade for repairs."

A small smile curved her lips. "I wondered," she said. "I was cut in rather interesting places." She glanced down at herself; she was wearing a sleeping set like Alistair's, as her cuts were healing very quickly now that she was awake and Wynne was coming in to cast a healing spell on her every hour. "Places my armor covered, so I wondered if my armor survived."

"You were saying about the Archdemon?" Alistair asked, refusing to be sidetracked.

"Oh, that." Keladry rubbed her forehead carefully, avoiding the scabbed cut there. "I felt it start to go into me, through my hands. It was like the Taint, but a thousand times worse." She shivered. "The purest evil I've ever encountered…" she frowned, groping for words. "Dark, malevolent intelligence…I don't quite know how to describe it. Smarter than a human, darker than the usual darkspawn." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. At last, she said quietly, almost dreamily, "It only touched me for a second, maybe less, but it felt like an eternity. Then it turned away from me, as if it knew exactly where to go…" She stopped and put a hand over her mouth, giving him a half-guilty look.

"Where to go?" Alistair asked, raising his eyebrows.

Keladry gave him a look through her eyelashes, a look he knew all too well. That was the look she got when she was debating whether or not she wanted to tell him something. Then she shook her head a little. "You're better off not knowing," she said.

Alistair glared at her, frowning savagely. "Keladry…" he said softly.

She met his glare coolly, staring him down. "Alistair," she replied. "Trust me on this, will you?"

He sighed, breaking the staredown first. "You know I trust you with my life," he said wearily.

"I will tell you in time," she said, picking up a grape and popping it into her mouth. "But right now, with the Orlesian Grey Wardens coming…" she shook her head slightly. "This is information that would just hurt you and make them upset."

And he had to be contented with that, for she wouldn't elaborate further. He knew when he was beaten, and switched to talking about his coronation, which was scheduled in a week.

"What do you need me to do?" Keladry asked after he outlined the basic plans. He had been shocked to find that a coronation required very little preparation: gather the nobles, find a Revered Mother who would perform the ceremony (there had actually been a fight in the local Chantry for the honor of crowning the first Grey Warden King), and send out the announcements. As someone had observed dryly, it was more complicated to get married than it was to be crowned. Alistair suspected he would discover the differences for himself soon enough.

The thought made him smile as he answered, "You and our other companions will be in the front of the hall. Since you made all this happen, that seems right to me, doesn't it to you?"

Keladry shrugged a little. "If you say so," she said. "You know I try not to throw myself into the front."

"And yet, here you are, the slayer of the Archdemon, my betrothed," Alistair teased. "I suspect you'll be put into the front, whether you want to be there or not." She made a face, and he laughed. "I'll make some announcements for various and sundry honors. Be ready to come up; I will be mentioning you."

She looked at him. "Alistair, must you?" she asked plaintively.

"I'm afraid so," he said. "Don't you know what they're calling you?"

One of her eyebrows rose slightly. "No," she said. "I've been confined to this damn bed for days."

"They're calling you the Hero of Ferelden," Alistair said with a wicked little smile.

Keladry stared at him, then began shaking her head slowly. "No, no, _no_," she said firmly. "I'm not a hero, I don't _want_ to be a hero…"

"And yet you are the one who rallied the armies," Alistair said, cutting her off.

"Well, yes, but that's only because…"

"And the one who rallied all the nobles and united the human kingdom against the Blight," Alistair continued, studying his nails.

"We needed them united!" Keladry cried. "Without them…"

"And, most importantly, you're the one who led the party against the Archdemon, and yours was the hand that slew the Archdemon itself."

"I had to!" she wailed. "I couldn't risk you being the one to kill the Archdemon! What if…" She stopped herself firmly, biting her bottom lip hard.

"What if…?" Alistair asked.

She shook her head. "If it had killed you, Ferelden would be without a king," she said, in control of herself again. "I'm expendable, compared to you."

Alistair took her shoulders in his hands gently, aware that her wounds were not yet fully healed. "You are not expendable," he said softly. "You are my love, the only woman I've ever loved. Without you…"

"But if our duty had required it," Keladry said, meeting his eyes directly, "I had to be the one to fall. This is something you have to understand to be King, Alistair. It's at the core of the Grey Wardens: someone has to fall to defeat a Blight, so a small sacrifice is required to save the masses. Remember the Oath? 'In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.'"

"Well," Alistair said lightly. "At least something went right, and you were spared."

"Yes," Keladry murmured, her eyelashes slipping down to conceal her eyes again. "Though I wonder if I'm glad of it; I certainly wouldn't have minded missing the pain involved with recovery!" She grinned at him, inviting him to share the joke.

He couldn't. The memory of seeing her, as pale as death with fresh wounds on her body, was still too close. "Not funny," he said, gripping her hand gently.

"Sorry," she said contritely.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, the comfortable silence of two people who know each other so well that speech is somewhat useless. Then Keladry finished her food and put the tray on the table beside the bed. "Want to help me walk a bit?" she asked brightly. "Since you're not all shaky anymore?"

Alistair grinned and slipped off the bed. "Come on, Gimpy," he teased.

"Gimpy, am I?" Keladry asked, scooting toward him carefully. Her legs had been pretty well torn up by the explosion; her arms weren't pretty either, but at least her arms were functional

now. She put her feet on the floor, wincing a little as her movement jarred her healing injuries.

"There you go," Alistair encouraged, taking her hand in his. "Go ahead. I have you if your legs give out." That wasn't a joke, either; the day before, when she first starting trying to walk, her knees had given out, landing her hard on the floor. Wynne had scolded both of them quite thoroughly after she stopped laughing at Keladry's affronted expression. The young Grey Warden hadn't been hurt, just embarrassed. She stuck her tongue out at Alistair as she carefully got to her feet.

Her legs gave out a little, but between her hand on the bed and him tightening his grip on her, she didn't fall. Keladry muttered something uncomplimentary and probably anatomically impossible that made Alistair laugh, but she steadied herself and straightened her back. She shifted a little and balanced on her own feet; she smiled a little as she took more of her weight onto her legs. "Getting stronger already," she commented.

"Good," Alistair said with a grin.

"Not one word more," Keladry said, giving him a sharp look.

"My lady," Alistair bowed his head, still grinning.

Keladry glared at him out of the corner of her eyes, but sighed and shook her head. "My dear, you are too quick-witted for your own good."

"Only with you, it seems," he returned. "And you're delaying. Let's try the walking thing."

"Yes," she said. There was a grim note to her voice that made him look at her. She looked back and answered his silent question: "You're going to be King in a week. I need to be back to the fullest strength I can manage in that time."

"Keladry…"

"No, Alistair, hear me out. Zevran and the others are wonderful for defense, but I'm the only other Grey Warden in the area. That makes me a target to those who don't like us anyway, and I'm your best defense." She smiled tightly. "Besides, I refuse to see you crowned whilst sitting in a chair, thanks so very much."

That made Alistair chuckle. "All right, my dear," he said. "That makes sense, given that it's you."

"So, then, let's walk."

So they walked, and talked, and occasionally had to stop for Keladry to catch her breath. She grew more and more irritable as they walked, but Alistair knew why. She hated that her body was rebelling against her, hated that she had to lean on anyone else to walk, and hated even _more_ that there was nothing but time and patience that could cure her weakness. So he didn't take offense. But he did have to leave when he'd gotten her back into her bed; there were a million and one things to take care of in the week before the coronation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Keladry stood naked in front of a full-length mirror, her hands at her sides as she looked at her reflection. "Maker's breath," she muttered, shaking her head. She'd known the battle with the Archdemon would leave her scarred, at best; given that the worst case scenario ended with her death, she'd actually gotten very lucky. It was hard to feel lucky when facing the cold hard truth in the mirror, though. She was badly scarred, to the point where an unkind person could call her "mutilated" and not be completely wrong.

She watched her reflection as she ran a hand slowly down her body, pausing at some of the more interesting scars. She supposed she was lucky, in a way; as long as she wore long-sleeved tunics, few people would know how badly she was scarred. Most of her scars were from the shoulders down, though her face hadn't completely escaped unscathed. She lightly touched her cheek and her forehead, and sighed.

Keladry Cousland had always had trouble with her self-image. Compared to the women around Highever, she always felt too small, too uncoordinated, too boyish to be pretty. Part of that came from how she dressed, as her mother had often pointed out with exasperation; she liked the freedom of tunics and trousers too much to wear dresses more than she had to. Beyond any of that, she didn't have the grace of the other ladies. Her steps were too long, she tended to slouch, and her hair? Best not to touch on that.

The only place she ever felt at home was in the practice ring. In her armor, with her weapons in her hands, she found a grace and a beauty in the purity of movement. The training master had found her a willing, hard-working pupil. Not that fighting ever came easily to her; she had to fight for every inch of progress she made. But in the practice areas, she found an acceptance among the rough-hewn men and women of the Guard.

Before Alistair, few men called her beautiful. Thomas Howe had expressed interest in her, but she suspected that had more to do with his father's ambition than any real attraction on his part. Even her father tended to see her as the warrior, not the woman she had grown into. He had nicknamed her "Pup" because she was small with sharp teeth.

And then, Alistair had come along. Sweet, silly Alistair whose need for love and acceptance called to the loneliness in her. Strong Alistair who acknowledged her as a warrior and accepted her as an equal in the Grey Wardens. More than an equal, he saw her as a leader; he followed her without a grumble across Ferelden and back. Handsome Alistair who looked at her and compared her to a rose, unexpected beauty in the midst of horror and pain. And for the first time in her life, she considered the idea that she might be pretty, and maybe more than pretty. In Alistair's eyes, she saw herself as a beautiful woman, and his love made her blossom into what he saw.

What did he see now? Tears filled her eyes as she looked at herself. How could he ever look at her and see beauty again? "I look like an escaped slave," she said to her reflection. Her reflection didn't contradict her; the healing gashes and cuts looked rather like whip marks, and the missing chunks of flesh could have been from a particularly sadistic owner. Her fingertips lingered for a moment on a puckered scar under her breast, where a chunk of flesh was just…gone. She could feel the gap under the healed skin as she ran her fingers back and forth over the scar.

No amount of healing magic could remove so many scars. This was what she would look like for the rest of her life. Her thoughts turned black as she looked away from the mirror. Maybe she should have died in the final explosion. Better the darkness of the Fade than the possibility that Alistair would look at her with revulsion. She exhaled slowly and shook her head. "No," she said aloud. "Better to live in pain and loneliness than to break his heart with my death." And she knew she was right. She loved Alistair with all her heart and soul, with every ounce of love she possessed. That love made it impossible to wish for any outcome that would break his heart. So if he was repulsed by her appearance, she would let him step away, allow him to go after some other lord's daughter.

But enough time for that later. Right now, she needed to regain her fighting abilities. Alistair was to be crowned in four days, and she wanted to be able to fight if something went horribly wrong at the last minute. She was a Grey Warden, after all. Even if he cast her off as his love, she had a responsibility to stand beside him as a Grey Warden. And if she said that to herself often enough, she might actually believe it.

She dressed quickly, wincing a little as healing wounds pressed against her armor. According to the healers, she was healed enough to take up training again. Wynne had been against the idea, but she'd acknowledged that Keladry and Wynne were too much alike; neither could lie in bed with the covers pulled to their chins when there was work to be done. So Keladry dealt with the pain and pressed through it, as she'd learned to do as a child in the practice rings in Highever.

Once she was down in the practice rings, she began to feel a little better. Her muscles protested all this sudden movement, but she relished that kind of ache. That was an ache she was familiar with, and it usually indicated that her physical exertions were pointed in the right direction. She nodded to the other fighters in the practice rings, but passed them without a word. She wasn't ready to practice with them yet. Though she'd never been injured this badly before, she had taken training injuries before and knew the drill well enough. First, she had to practice with the dummies and the pells, stretching her muscles and reminding her body how the movements felt. Once she felt confident again, she would look for a fighting partner.

She spent a couple hours practicing against the dummies and the pells, and left the practice rings smiling. She felt more like herself than she had since waking up; there was something real and pure about sweating her way through the practice patterns she'd learned as a child. She was able to lose herself in the repetition, able to forget all her fears and stopped worrying about the future, at least for a time.

The next day found her rising from her bed as soon as Alistair left her to deal with the millions of details he had to attend to as the King-to-be. He had left her with a kiss and a promise to check in with her sometime during the day. She watched him leave, feeling a peculiar sadness settle over her as soon as the door closed behind him. Sure, he would promise that, but he hadn't been able to follow through the last couple days. She knew it wasn't his fault; she knew the demands of nobility, after all. Who would know better than a Teyrn's daughter? Still, she selfishly wanted him close as long as she could have him there. After all…

She shook her head firmly, refusing to allow her mind to go that direction. No, now wasn't the time to think about possibly being rejected because of her scars. Right now, she wanted to go back to the practice rings. Maybe she could pass a few bouts with the other fighters. With that cheerful thought, she headed for the practice grounds as soon as she was properly dressed.

She became aware of the change in the air as she practiced against the pells. When she had first arrived, the other fighters had been joking amongst themselves, trading jibes and blows in equal measure as a training master worked with the younger fighters. But as her practice progressed, she became aware of a growing silence. The sound of weapons clashing and grunts of exertion remained the same, but no one was joking around anymore. And she slowly began to realize they were watching her. They were all behind her, so she couldn't actually catch them staring at her, but she felt the weight of their regard on her back. What was going on?

She finished her drills on the pells and turned, pulling her helmet off as she scanned the field for a fighter partner. Almost immediately, the younger fighters finished their drills and were sent away by the training master, who watched the young Grey Warden as he walked to sit outside the practice rings. As she watched, the other fighters finished their bouts and began drifting back to the edge of the field, removing pieces of their armor as they went.

They were avoiding fighting her. That realization burst in her mind and left her speechless for a moment. Why on earth would they avoid a newcomer? At home, a new fighter, especially one who was well-trained, was welcomed heartily by the other fighters. In Highever, new training techniques were hard to come by, since they were so far north, so any outsider represented a cache of new ideas and tricks. Were things so different in Denerim?

Or was it because they knew she was so recently released from the healers' care? That made a kind of sense, but didn't account for the sudden silence when she began her practicing. Why were they avoiding her?

Alistair fumed to himself as he walked outside, away from the constant preparations. What was _wrong_ with the ladies of Denerim? No less than five ladies, each young and pretty in her own way, had attached themselves to him and made it clear that they would like to "know him better". Even finding out he was betrothed didn't seem to make a difference to these…these headhunters! He knew what they really wanted. None of them gave a damn about Alistair the man; they had no idea who he really was. They just wanted the distinction of being Queen. None of them could hold a candle to Keladry; each of them was too delicate and fragile to survive the ravages of war.

Keladry. She was solid, his anchor into reality. She was beautiful without focusing on beauty, strong and yielding all at once. So right now, he just wanted time with Keladry. He knew she didn't like being left alone in her room for so long, so he would surprise her with an early visit.

As he passed the training grounds, he glanced into them automatically and stopped cold. Keladry! She was up, and back in her armor, her long swords in their sheaths on her back. Well, she must have been working hard on her strength-building exercises to be back here so soon!

Then he looked closer and realized something was wrong. Though her back was to him, he could tell from the set of her shoulders, the way her fists were planted on her hips, and the tilt of her head, that she was annoyed bordering on angry. Alistair spun on his heel and headed into the practice ring.

She sensed him coming and turned to look at him, her helmet under her arm. She bowed crisply and precisely, the exact depth of a bow required from a noble for a prince. "Good afternoon, Your Highness," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the field.

Now that he was closer to her, he saw the rest of the training grounds rather clearly and guessed why she was upset. There were about twenty armed men and women standing about, looking deeply uncomfortable. Some were sitting, and some were removing their armor, but none were sparring or training. Oh dear.

He returned his attention to Keladry and had to repress a smile. Once again, her diplomatic skills impressed him deeply. She had not greeted him as "Your Majesty"; the armored men and women were of noble birth, and would take offense at her calling him by that title before his coronation. But she had also not greeted him as "Alistair"; the same noble-bred warriors would be terribly offended at the idea that someone could call their king-to-be by his first name in public. So with her usual quick wit and deep knowledge, she had pulled an acceptable compromise. "Warden Keladry," he replied, nodding to her.

He caught the flash of amusement in her eyes, and she nodded slightly. She hated titles; he knew that intimately, having been there when she told a knight to call her "Grey Warden", for that was what she was. But as a Teyrn's daughter, it would be inappropriate to neglect a title entirely in public. So until she was married to him, "Warden Keladry" worked just fine.

"I see you are feeling better," Alistair continued, looking her up and down. "And Master Wade did a beautiful job repairing your armor. Who found Starfang for you?" For the shimmering starmetal sword was there in its old place on her back.

"Yes, on both counts, Your Highness," Keladry replied. "Zevran went back to the top of Fort Drakon yesterday and found it for me, at my request."

"And yet you seem less than pleased," Alistair said. By now, he was aware of the attention from the others in the training grounds.

"I have cause to be less than pleased," Keladry said. Her voice was low-pitched, almost a growl, but it carried well across the field. "Though I am nearly fully recovered, and though I have been cleared by the healers to begin training again, I can find no training partners willing to pass a few rounds with me."

Alistair's eyebrows went up, and he looked at the warriors again with a measuring eye. Some had the grace to look uncomfortable, others met his gaze defiantly. One older man, a sergeant of the Guard from his insignia, sat leaning against a building's wall, watching all that passed with mild interest. "Indeed?" he asked. "Well, I happen to find myself with some spare time; would you care to pass a round or two with me?"

Keladry looked at him with a slow smile. "Yes, I think I would like that," she said, unhooking her swords from her back.

Alistair grinned and slipped his sword and shield from his back. He still wore his armor and weaponry everywhere, both from force of habit and the general sense that this was an oddly dangerous time for him as the declared but uncrowned king. He pulled his helmet on and settled into a comfortable ready stance.

Keladry flipped her hair back with a little toss of her head and pulled her helmet on, smiling tightly before shifting into the center of the ring. Behind them, Alistair sensed the other warriors shifting closer, interested in all that passed. His lips tightened a little. He had a pretty good idea why they had declined to fight Keladry, and it had nothing to do with her recent injuries. After all, he'd been around the palace more than she had recently, and he'd heard the stories circulating about her in particular. "Hero of Ferelden" was the starting point; he'd heard something about her being ten feet tall and shooting lighting from her eyes. The cowards were too afraid to face her in the ring, even though they could clearly see she stood just over five feet and apparently had no interest in shooting anything from her eyes.

Alistair saluted Keladry formally. "For your honor, my dear," he said softly.

Keladry winked at him as she returned the salute, crossing her swords over her chest. "For the joy of the fight," she replied.

As they began the first bout, Alistair kept a careful eye on her. She had a habit of overreaching her limits, especially when she was making a point. But he needn't have worried; she'd apparently suffered serious injuries before and knew to take things slow. He could tell she'd already gone through stretches, and he approved. He kept to her pace, which was about half of her usual speed, but otherwise gave her a good fight.

He blocked both her swords and tapped her lightly in the ribs, to murmurs from the audience. "A point to the Crown Prince," said the older sergeant.

"Good," Keladry approved. "My reflexes seem to have suffered from time in bed."

Alistair could think of about five ways he could go with that, but decided now was not the time for risqué conversation. Instead, he chuckled and saluted her. "In your own time, Grey Warden," he said with dry humor.

Keladry wrinkled her nose at him and saluted before launching into a new attack.

They passed from bout to bout with fluid ease, the pace picking up as Keladry found her feet and her confidence again. Soon they were almost at full speed, and Alistair's ribs ached from the shots she'd landed on him. Her control was quite good, even with her time away from practice, but it was really hard to pull all the power from a shot designed to kill on the battlefield.

By the end of a half hour, they were both sweating profusely and breathing hard. Alistair ached, and he suspected Keladry did too from the way she carefully favored her right side. They finished a bout and parted briefly. "What is the score currently?" Alistair asked.

"Currently, you are tied," the sergeant said. "Eight to eight."

"Shall we have one more?" Alistair asked. "Then call it for the day?"

Keladry nodded. Her shoulders sagged a little; she looked exhausted but pleased. "I daresay I should call it then," she agreed. "I am nearing the edge of my limits."

"Good," Alistair said. Then, possessed by a devilish impulse he didn't understand, he added, "It would be best if the Hero of Ferelden didn't fall over in a dead faint."

Her expression settled into a cool mask as she looked at him. She didn't say anything, just saluted. He saluted in reply. A dangerous expression flashed across her eyes; that was his first and last warning. Next thing he knew, he was in the center of a whirlwind of blades, trying to defend himself from attacks that seemed to come from all sides at once. The flat of her blade caught him sharply in the ribs, turning him just in time to allow her to smack him in the small of the back. He managed to catch a couple shots on his shield, numbing his arm, but he found himself pressed back and back until he was at the edge of the field.

"I yield!" he called. "'Drea, I yield!"

She stopped immediately, letting her swords come to rest at her sides. They looked at each other, breathing hard. After a moment, Keladry bowed a little. "I cry your pardon, Your Highness," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alistair said. "That was beautiful!"

Keladry smiled wryly and put her swords away. "Would you be good enough to escort me back to my room, before the healers find me and shoot me?"

He laughed and offered her his arm. She took it after removing her helmet and they walked back into the palace together. The moment they were out of sight of the fighting fields, Alistair felt her shift more of her weight to him, and he smiled. "I thought that wore you out pretty well," he said softly.

"But maybe they'll learn that I don't like that title," Keladry replied just as softly. "Are you all right? I tried to pull most of my shots."

"I'm a bit bruised, but not bad." Alistair waved her concern away lightly. He had guessed that the last bout was more to show the warriors her opinion of that title, so he wasn't annoyed about his bruises. "How are you?"

She rested her head briefly against his shoulder. "Tired," she admitted. "I think I'll take a nap when I get back to my room."

"Good idea," Alistair nodded.

They made it up the stairs, Keladry giggling at her own weakness and Alistair teasing her gently as he helped her up the stairs. At last, they reached her room and she sat heavily on the bed. He could tell she was weary to the core, so he began unbuckling her armor for her. She was able to lift her arms to get her breastplate off, but seemed unable to do more.

When he'd gotten her armor off, he started to remove her sweat-soaked clothing, but she put a hand over his and shook her head. "No," she said, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "I can do that."

He settled back a little and looked at her, frowning a little. "Drea?" he asked softly. "What's wrong?" She had been body-shy when they first became lovers, but in the time since, she'd lost that shyness around him. Right before the final battle, she often changed in front of him without so much as blinking an eye. So where had this new shyness come from?

"Nothing," Keladry said, still not looking right at him.

His frown deepened. They had discovered while battling the Blight that they both had some skills beyond the usual Grey Warden set. All Wardens could sense each other at a distance; that was how Keladry had recognized Riordan as a Grey Warden without ever having met him before their encounter in Arl Howe's estate. She characterized it as "like darkspawn, but a sweeter note in my head", which made sense, since she heard darkspawn as a discordant tone. Most Grey Wardens, however, couldn't sense more than that about other Grey Wardens. Keladry and Alistair were different in that respect. The darkspawn blood in both of them had somehow created a kind of mental bond that allowed both to sense what the other was feeling, a localized empathy they shared.

Right now, the overwhelming sense from Keladry was that of shame, and a deep sadness that made his heart ache in sympathy. "Love, something's wrong," he said, lightly touching her shoulder.

Her whole body shuddered as she turned away. He thought he saw tears escape her eyes before she turned, and that alarmed him. Keladry rarely cried; it was something of a point of pride with her. "Couslands don't cry," she'd said once. "Tears are a weakness an enemy can take advantage of." He disagreed, but suspected that was a habit she wouldn't break easily. So for her to be crying now, something had to be seriously wrong.

Alistair moved to sit in front of her again. With her head bowed, her hair was just long enough to obscure her face, but he saw tears dropping onto her clenched fists. "Drea, what is it?" he asked softly.

She exhaled, almost sobbing, and looked up at him. The dark sadness in her eyes made him almost recoil with surprise; how had he not sensed this before now? "I…" she started, then bit her lip and pounded her thigh with a fist. He winced in sympathy as her body jerked a little in pain. But the pain seemed to center her, focus her, and she relaxed a little. "I'm being stupid," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Wordlessly, Alistair found a handkerchief in a drawer and offered it to her. She took it and blew her nose with a very unladylike sound that made him smile. "You're not being stupid," he said. "At least, I don't think so."

She exhaled and looked at him. "I'm…I'm afraid," she confessed.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked.

She looked him in the eyes and shook her head slightly. She opened her mouth a couple times, but seemed unable to find the right words. She growled in frustration and yanked her shirt off. "Look at me!" she demanded.

"All right," he said, and obeyed with rather more pleasure than she probably expected, given her defiant expression. She had regained some of the weight she'd lost; her hipbones and ribs didn't stand out as clearly as before, which made his heart relax a little. And yes, there were the scars that traced their jagged paths across her body, but he hadn't really noticed them at first; they were healing well, fading from angry red to a lighter pink. Actually, his first thought had been if she might want to spend some intimate time with him; he missed their cozy nights spent lovemaking under the stars.

"Well?" she demanded after a moment.

"Well, what?" Alistair asked.

"Aren't you repulsed by them?" she asked.

He stared at her, his jaw falling open. "What?" he asked, when he managed to get his mouth working with him again.

"My _scars_!" she snapped. "You have eyes, don't you? Don't they repulse you?"

"Andraste's flaming sword, Keladry, is that what's bothering you?" Alistair asked, shocked to the core. "No, they don't repulse me, how could they possibly repulse me?"

"Because…because they're _ugly_!" she exclaimed. "And…and they make me…ugly." She whispered the last word so softly Alistair could barely hear her.

"Keladry," Alistair said, reaching out and taking her hands in his. Damn it all, this was going to take careful handling. His first instinct, which was to say "They're not that bad", was probably not the best way to respond to this. At least she let him take her hands; that was a good start.

He cleared his throat and looked her in the eyes. "'Drea, do you remember what I told you when I gave you that rose, the one I found in Lothering?" he asked after a long moment of silence. Spoken words weren't his strongest point, but he needed to find the right words now.

"Y-yes," Keladry said.

"What did I tell you?" he asked.

Keladry stared at their joined hands for a moment. Then she sighed and looked at him. "That I was a rare and wonderful thing to find, in the midst of all the darkness," she said. "That the rose reminded you of me, in that respect."

Alistair nodded and gently squeezed her hands. "That hasn't changed," he said softly. "Drea, my love, my beautiful rose…you are still so beautiful."

"But…these scars…" She motioned toward her torso with their joined hands.

He shook his head. "Make no difference to me. Do you know what I see when I look at them?" She shook her head, mimicking his gesture almost perfectly. "Courage. Honor. Nobility that goes so far beyond the expected as to be…perfectly astonishing. You killed that thing, knowing you should've died to kill it. But you know what I see most of all?" He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, lifting her face to look at him. "You, 'Drea. The beautiful woman I fell in love with in the middle of the Blight. The strong warrior who watched my back all the way through that damned Blight. The no-nonsense, practical, 'put-your-helmet-on-and-fight' woman who took on the leadership role as a brand-new Grey Warden and managed to keep the wildly different people in the party from killing each other as we chased down the Blight."

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his for any trace of a lie. "You still think I'm beautiful?" she whispered at last.

He didn't take that question lightly, but he did smile as he responded. "Of course you are. You're ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

She started laughing softly. She remembered when he last said that to her; that was the first time she'd actually believed him when he said she was something beautiful and special. She closed her eyes and scooted closer to him. "Hold me?" she asked.

He was more than happy to oblige. Working with gentle care, he wrapped both arms around her and held her close. She shifted so she was cradled in his lap, and rested her head against his chest. "Sorry," she said softly.

"For what?" he asked, gently stroking her hair. Her hair was a constant source of fascination for him, so soft and silky and bright; he'd never seen anything quite like it, and he liked to touch it whenever he could.

He felt her relax under the familiar touch. She sighed. "For being such a…a girl," she said after a moment.

His hand slid down her arm to her chest and lightly poked her breast. "I like you as a girl," he said.

She laughed and looked up at him. "You're being silly," she said.

"No, love, you are," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. "You've been through a terrible time, dealing with the Blight, and the nobles. And on top of all that, you got seriously hurt and had to stay in bed to recover. That's a lot for anyone to deal with. You're entitled to cry and rage and be a 'girl', as you term it. I'm strong enough to take it. Just know I love you, and always will, no matter what happens to either of us."

She looked at him for a moment and smiled. "I love you too," she said softly. And with a little sigh, she kissed his mouth gently.

He returned the kiss with interest, slipping his fingers into her hair as he held her close to him. He felt her heart start racing, and, following an instinct, he began stroking her back gently, lightly tracing his fingers over her scars.

She moaned softly into his mouth and pulled away, her eyes wide and surprised. "Maker's breath!" she exclaimed.

"Does that hurt?" he asked, stopping immediately.

"No! Oh, but they're so sensitive…that felt so good!" Her back arched, trying to reach his fingers again.

With a low chuckle, Alistair continued gently following the scars with his fingers, loving how she gasped and moaned in his arms. Working with care, he turned and laid her on the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes vulnerable. "Are you sure…?" she asked.

"Trust me on this," Alistair replied softly, smiling down at her.

She smiled back. "I trust you with my life," she said, her voice soft and husky. She tugged at his clothes. "And right now, you are seriously overdressed."

He laughed and straightened. Moving with brisk efficiency, he stripped his armor off, leaving it in a neat pile by the door (and taking the chance to lock the door). Then he moved to her side and began pulling off his clothing. She hooked a hand in the waistband of his trousers and tugged gently. He raised his hands a little and let her remove the last of his clothing. "Are you sure this won't hurt you?" he asked, kneeling beside her and gently slipping her trousers off.

She looked at him, her eyebrows raised. "We just went through seventeen bouts," she pointed out. "The worst of my injuries are mostly healed. I just have some bruising and the scars."

He nodded and bent to kiss the puckered scar under her breast. Her gasp was most rewarding, and he smiled against her skin as her fingers slipped into his hair and pulled gently.

Despite her assurances that he wouldn't hurt her, he touched her very hesitantly, afraid to press too hard or cause his love pain. For a moment, it felt rather like the first time they'd made love; he had been uncertain then too. Keladry looked up at him and caught his hand in hers. Wordlessly, she pulled his hand to her breast and let it rest there. The familiar warmth under his hand reassured him, and he exhaled shakily before bending to kiss her again. When they parted, she smiled up at him. "Love me," she said simply, tugging on his shoulders gently.

She got her wish, and Alistair lost his fear very quickly in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

All too soon, the day of Alistair's coronation dawned. As far as Alistair was concerned, the day could just go away. If he thought he could get away with it, he would have tried hiding under the covers. But he didn't get that option, as Wynne gently reminded him. At least he could prepare in Keladry's room. Wynne even encouraged it, saying something about Keladry making sure he looked presentable, which Alistair carefully ignored.

Keladry looked up as he came into her room and smiled a greeting. "Hello, love," she said, abandoning her mirror to kiss him. She'd returned to her former level of physical affection in the days since their practice bouts. He wasn't complaining. "How are you feeling?"

"Do you think Fort Drakon is tall enough to kill me if I fling myself from the top?" Alistair asked, half-joking.

She grinned and shook her head. "I'd get Wynne to make you float," she said. "And you'd have to choke down all the healing potions I have left if you did get hurt." He made a face; he hated the taste of healing potions. She nodded. "So instead of wasting everyone's time, let's get you ready for your coronation." She walked to an armor stand in the corner. "I had Zevran bring Cailan's armor from Arl Eamon's estate," she said over her shoulder. "Eamon and I agreed that it would be best for you to be crowned in armor the people already know and love. And it should fit you; Cailan was built very like you."

"Are you sure about that?" Alistair asked. "I like my drakescale armor…"

"So do I," Keladry said. "Between us, I think Cailan's armor will make you look a little silly. But today is about image and perceptions, so yes, I am sure."

Alistair sighed, but submitted to her ministrations. She combed his hair out and checked to make sure he'd washed his face—drawing teasing comments on her "mothering" from him—then began putting him into his armor.

Alistair watched them in the mirror as Keladry dressed him. This seemed to be important to her, so he didn't fuss with her as she slipped the breastplate into place over his fine linen shirt. He was glad to see her in the pink of health again. After the initial ice had been broken with their fights, Keladry had fighting partners lining up to fight her. He had been right; they were afraid of her reputation. Seeing her have to work for a victory over him helped the other fighters realize she was as human as any of them. So while he fussed over the details, she spent much of her days fighting, training, and helping new fighters with their technique.

The rest of the time, to her disgust, she had to stand for clothes fittings and listen to instruction on what it meant to be Queen. She shut down the instructions pretty fast, actually; she lasted through an hour, then told the counselor in question that she understood the duties of a noble, and she knew her primary job as Queen: to stand beside her husband and help him maintain the kingdom. He tried to protest that there was so much more to co-ruling. "Then I will learn on the job," she'd said firmly. "I learned to be a Grey Warden in the middle of a Blight, with most of the senior Grey Wardens dead. Being Queen will be safer by far." With that, according to palace rumor, she bowed to the counselor with precise dignity and left, closing the door gently behind her. Somehow, that careful response garnered more gossip than if she'd slammed the door.

She seemed to enjoy the fittings a little better, mostly because Leliana was there with her through those, offering advice on style and color. The two women had very different ideas about form and function, but Keladry knew Leliana had experience in dresses that were as easy to fight in as trousers. So, under protest, the young Grey Warden allowed the tailor to make her a few dresses. Alistair stayed well out of the clothing fuss, though he had to admit that he was enjoying seeing Keladry in clothes that really fitted her form.

Keladry looked up and met his eyes in the mirror. "Copper for your thoughts," she said with a smile.

"I was just thinking how nicely your clothes fit you," Alistair said.

She looked down at her outfit and rolled her eyes. "Silk is so impractical for any fighting clothing," she said. "But the shirt is very pretty, I agree, and the trousers are functional." She was resplendent in the Grey Warden heraldic colors, with a white silk shirt and dark blue leather trousers. She wore her dragonskin boots already, but none of the rest of her armor. "There you go," she added, fastening the last buckle and standing back. "My love, you look perfectly regal."

"I feel perfectly foolish," Alistair said with dry humor. "Aren't you wearing your armor?"

"Yes, but you caught me before I could put it on," she said. She glanced out the window. "I'd best fix that quickly; time marches on."

"Unfortunately," Alistair sighed. He shifted his shoulders, wishing he could wear his own armor. He felt stiff and unnatural in his half-brother's armor, and he hoped absently that he could move enough to get his sword and shield if something went terribly wrong. He felt better, though, knowing that Keladry would be just down the steps from him at all times, and _she_ was wearing the armor she'd worn throughout most of the Blight. She could do almost everything she needed to do in that armor, including sleep when necessary (though she was always stiff and cranky afterwards).

He watched as she quickly slipped into her armor, buckling the straps and tying down laces with the ease of long practice. As she worked, she hummed a tune to herself. He recognized it; it was a well-known tavern song. He was surprised she knew it so well, but she surprised him even more when she sang a line. "We were strangers, starting out on a journey…"

"Those aren't the words to that song," Alistair commented.

Keladry turned to face him as she slipped her swords into their places on her back. "They are now," she said with a grin. "I'm no bard, my love, but I've had time to think."

"Oh? And what has been going through that beautiful head of yours?" Alistair asked.

"The words to that old song are outdated, but the tune is quite nice. So, in honor of our little adventure across Ferelden and back," he snorted and she grinned, "I've been trying to set new words to the old tune."

"How does it go?" Alistair asked.

Keladry glanced out the window. "I think we have time," she decided. "I just have the first verse so far, though." She cleared her throat, blushing a little. "Keep in mind, I've never trained as a singer…" she started.

"And?" Alistair asked. "You have a fair enough voice, for someone who doesn't want to be a minstrel."

She smiled at the compliment and closed her eyes. She had a fair alto, nice and mellow on the ear. As she began, Alistair realized that the song wasn't just a tribute to their quest during the Blight; it was also a tribute to their love, and where they had come after such a long trip:

"_We were strangers_

_Starting out on a journey_

_Never dreaming_

_What we'd have to go through_

_Now here we are_

_And I'm suddenly standing_

_At the beginning with you."_

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I don't have more yet," she admitted. "I'm working on it, but in the tavern song, the next verse is the male singing."

Alistair grinned. "I'll think about that," he promised. "And now, my dear Grey Warden, shall we go chain me to the kingdom?"

She laughed and took his offered arm. "It won't be that bad," she encouraged him. "I'll be chained to it with you; doesn't that make it better?"

"Always," Alistair said, looking down at her. Sometimes, he could hardly believe how the Maker had blessed him when He brought this woman into his life. She was so little compared to him, almost a full head shorter when they stood beside each other. And yet, she had been the driving force behind rallying the armies, behind changing the course of history. He smiled down at her, and she smiled back with the joy that had managed to survive through the Blight. "I love you, Keladry Cousland," he said.

"And I love you, Alistair," Keladry returned.

That was all that needed to be said between them. Walking together, arm in arm, side by side, they headed out of her room and down the hall toward the chamber where Alistair would become King.

As they walked, the rest of their companions fell in with them, silently following the King-to-be toward his destiny. Alistair swallowed hard, feeling as he had the first time he'd taken the field against a Templar Commander. Only Keladry's comforting presence at his side kept him from taking to his heels.

They met Arl Eamon in the antechamber where they had faced Ser Cauthrien and forced her to back down. Alistair remembered that with warm affection for the woman on his arm: Keladry had convinced the lady knight that Loghain was wrong, and Cauthrien was dishonorable for supporting him, and Cauthrien had stood aside without a fight. Eamon bowed to the group at large with a smile. "Welcome, friends," he said softly. "We have come a long way to stand here today."

Only Alistair heard Keladry's very soft snort; he agreed. "A long way" was the understatement of the Age.

"The nobles and guards are taking their places inside," Eamon went on, unaware of the silent byplay between the King-to-be and his Grey Warden fiancée. "Once they are settled, all but Alistair will enter and take your places. I will stay here and give you the signal to enter, Your Highness. After that, all you have to do is walk and kneel before the Revered Mother."

Alistair nodded seriously. "Thank you, my lord," he said. "You have been such a strong support through all of this; I can never repay you."

"Just be a good and just king," Eamon said, meeting Alistair's eyes with calm confidence. "That is repayment enough for me."

Alistair bowed a little. "I can promise that easily," he said, glancing sideways at Keladry. "I am surrounded by wise counselors."

Keladry barely managed to hide her snort as a sneeze, but Arl Eamon smiled, pleased by his answer. "My friends, take your places," he said, going to the large doors and opening them for the rest of the party.

Keladry looked up at Alistair, her eyes warm. "So one act finishes," she said softly. "And another begins. We truly do stand at the beginning of something new and wonderful."

"We do," Alistair agreed. "Now you had better take your place before Eamon shouts at us." She winked up at him and walked into the hall, her step light and confidence radiating from her. Alistair shook his head as he watched her go. What a woman she was.

"What a wonderful woman to stand beside you," Eamon said, unconsciously echoing Alistair's thought. "She has a good heart, and the sense to back it up. That is incredibly rare."

Alistair smiled. "I have been blessed beyond all measure," he said simply.

"That you have," Eamon agreed. He looked through the doors. "All right, everyone is in place," he added. "Are you ready?"

"No," Alistair deadpanned. He smiled a little shakily. "But I think I can do this."

"I think you can, too," Eamon said, resting a hand on the young prince's shoulder. "You are the image of your father when he was young. I think you will be an excellent king, with Keladry beside you."

"I hope so," Alistair said, taking comfort and hope from the older man's words.

"Now, Your Highness, your kingdom awaits you," Arl Eamon said, stepping away from Alistair and throwing the double doors wide open.

Alistair took a deep breath and began walking. He felt the comforting weight of Duncan's shield on his back, countering the staggering weight of all those eyes looking at him. And ahead, just in front of the dais, Keladry stepped forward a little and met his eyes. Her smile was filled with encouragement. Alistair fixed his gaze on her face and found he had the strength to make up the aisle after all. He passed Keladry and clasped her shoulder briefly as she stepped back into the ranks of their friends. She winked at him and nodded.

Just as promised, the actual ceremony was incredibly short. He knelt before the Revered Mother and she spoke the words over him that changed him from a Grey Warden Prince to a Grey Warden King, with all the rights and responsibilities inherent in both jobs. He looked up at her as she finished, and she motioned for him to rise. Exhaling slowly, he turned to face the nobles. The wave of approval and applause that swept over him staggered him for a moment. He had never stepped into a position where he was accepted by so many. The only comparable experience was when he became a Grey Warden, and the love and acceptance he'd felt from the other Grey Wardens.

He had never been one for making speeches, so he kept his words short before calling Keladry up to the dais. She came willingly enough; he was pretty sure he was the only one who saw the mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she mounted the stairs. Taking her hand in his, he officially introduced her as his betrothed, to general cheers and approval.

He had to admit, he had half-expected her to ask for lands and titles when he asked her what she wanted as a boon/engagement present. She was a Teyrn's daughter, after all; wouldn't she want lands of her own? Especially since he'd heard that Fergus Cousland had survived and would be taking his father's place as the Teyrn of Highever. Instead, she looked at him with those dreamer's hazel eyes and said she only wanted to continue to serve the Crown.

For a moment, he thought she was making a risqué half-joke—_serve_ the Crown, _serve_ the King, ha-ha—but he looked into her eyes and realized she was dead serious. His eyebrows went up a little as he looked at her. Of everything she could ask for, everything that could be hers at a word, she had asked for something that was practically guaranteed as of their wedding? He would have to ask her about that later. For now, he settled with, "Well, you'll have plenty of opportunity to do that as queen." That made her smile, and she bowed a little.

At last, the overly formal part was done. Alistair talked to her briefly before letting her go and greet the masses. He didn't want to let her go; he never wanted her far from his side. But she needed to be seen as a force in her own right, able to command attention and respect from noble and commoner alike. The soldiers and knights, at least, respected her skill in arms, and the noble cautiously accepted her as one of theirs, unsure if her standing as a Grey Warden would change her responsibilities as a Teyrn's daughter.

Keladry made Alistair proud as he watched her proceed down the length of the hall. She stopped to talk briefly to everyone, giving them a warm smile and a clasped hand so they could see that the future Queen was a friendly and approachable person. Still, she maintained a certain level of aloofness that seemed to be required in the noble ranks, something the nobles unconsciously recognized and responded favorably to. Or at least she maintained her aloofness until she saw one of the nobles who stood just a little off to the side, smiling. "Fergus!" she shouted, flying to him and jumping into his arms.

Alistair smiled and leaned against the wall. So that was Fergus Cousland, the new Teyrn of Highever. He looked a lot like his sister, though he was taller and built heavier with darker hair. Still, he was obviously a warrior, to judge from his strength as he picked up his little sister and spun her around. They talked for a few minutes, then he turned her and lightly pushed her further along the hall. She went, laughing at him.

The king watched as his betrothed spoke to each of their companions. Judging from the laughter, the conversations weren't as dark as they could have been. But what was she saying to Zevran to make the assassin laugh like that? Hm.

Finally, she reached the doors at the end of the hall. She paused and looked back at Alistair. He couldn't quite read her facial expression, but her stance suggested she was nervous, maybe even terrified. He had to laugh a little to himself. She would face down hoards of darkspawn without flinching, but was afraid of a crowd of well-wishers? He waved to her encouragingly. She squared her shoulders, then turned back to the doors. They opened for her, and the sunlight shone on her bright hair. For a brief moment, it looked like she wore a coronet of flame as she passed through the doors to the cheers of the people outside.

"Your Majesty." The speaker had a pleasant voice, a light tenor that sounded almost familiar. Alistair turned to look at the speaker and hid a smile.

"Teyrn Fergus Cousland, I presume?" he asked, extending his hand for a shake.

Fergus smiled and bowed before taking the offered hand. His grip was firm, testing Alistair's strength without crushing every bone in his hand. "You presume correctly, Your Majesty," he said.

"Please, call me Alistair," Alistair said. "I'm marrying your sister, after all; I daresay the family ties are close enough for first names."

"I should hope so, Alistair," Fergus said with a light smile. "And of course, you must call me Fergus." He turned a little to look at the doors where his sister had exited. "It all came as a shock to me," he said conversationally. "I was wound-sick after the battle of Ostagar; I didn't recover until just before the final march on Denerim. Imagine my shock to discover that my little sister became a Grey Warden and, more than that, had put you on the throne and was leading the army."

"Fergus…" Alistair started. He felt as if he should defend himself.

Fergus cut him off with a little shake of his head. "No, hear me out. I was shocked, but not _surprised_, if you understand me. Keladry has always been made for greater things. I knew that from the moment she stole one of my practice swords when she was four. So I'm not surprised to find her the Hero of Ferelden, and engaged to the new king." He smiled. "Actually, between us, Mother was trying to get her engaged to Cailan when he first became king. Keladry didn't know. She would have been furious if she ever knew; she was sixteen, just barely of age, and devoted to her training."

Alistair relaxed a little and smiled. "I hope we'll be able to work closely in the future," he said.

"Since I'm the only remaining Teyrn?" Fergus asked. He was quick on his feet politically.

"At least for the moment. I considered giving Keladry Teyrn Loghain's lands and titles, but I think there's more in store for her, some task I need to keep her available for," Alistair said. "But yes, I will need you by my side."

"You may count on me, Your Majesty," Fergus said. "Unless you do something to hurt my baby sister. Then no power short of the Maker himself will keep me from killing you."

Alistair smiled. "I would expect no less," he said with a small courteous bow. "She is fortunate indeed to have such a protective brother."

Fergus nodded and smiled. "Good," he said, and Alistair had the sense he'd just passed a test with flying colors. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

The king nodded and watched Fergus walk back down to the main floor of the hall. Alistair didn't like formal affairs and never had, so he began looking for an escape route that wouldn't take him past Wynne. She would advise him, as Mage-Advisor, to stay and mingle longer.

He managed to find a path that took him out of the formal hall with a minimum of lordly meetings. He heard cheers from the front, and guessed Keladry was still there being made much of. That thought made him smile as he made a beeline for the Palace.

His things had all been moved to Cailan and Anora's old room. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt at sentencing his sister-in-law to the tower, but he shook that off. If he was going to be king, he had to keep others from nibbling at the Crown. He leaned against the door after closing it and looked around. The room was so _big_! He'd never slept in such a big room in his life! For a moment, he felt more than slightly intimidated as he tried to imagine actually filling the room with his things. And that picture of Cailan seemed to be staring right at him…he shook himself a little and began removing his armor.

A light knock came at the door a half hour later, as Alistair debated what to do with a pile of things taken from an armoire. "Come in," he called absently.

The door opened, and light footsteps crossed the floor. He turned in time to see Keladry with a blade in her hand, aimed at his heart. "If I were an assassin, I would have shot you from the door," she said conversationally, sheathing her sword.

"I knew it was you," Alistair said. "I felt you from outside the door."

"Hmm. And if you hadn't been able to sense me?" Keladry asked.

"Then I wouldn't have invited you in," Alistair returned, starting to feel a little annoyed. He was a warrior too, by the Maker!

She caught the look on his face—or his emotional state through the Grey Warden link, he couldn't tell which—and smiled. "Yes, love, you are a warrior as well. And a good one. But you've never been king, or moved in the noble circles. I may dislike them deeply, but I understand them. Some of the nobles who swore fealty to you today will meet tonight to plot ways to undermine your authority, if not depose you completely. And that is the noble's game. I hear it's worse in Orlais."

Alistair relaxed and smiled in return. "Sorry, love," he said, rubbing his face. "It's been stressful for me today."

"Believe me, I understand that," Keladry said with a little smile. "But I was sent up for a purpose. You're expected to preside over dinner tonight, and it's getting close to food time."

"And my bride-to-be is hungry, isn't she?" Alistair asked, catching undertones to her comment.

She grinned. "Just a little. C'mon, let's get dressed for dinner."


	6. Chapter 6

((A/N: The song quoted here and in the last chapter is from Disney's Anastasia soundtrack; it's called "At The Beginning". It is used with gentle courtesy for the original songwriters; I suspect they'd like that it's being used as a declaration of love))

**Chapter Six**

Despite Alistair's misgivings, dinner went well. The cooks knew Keladry was still recovering, so they made sure to send special delicacies to tempt her appetite to the high table. She praised all of them highly and shared her treats with her friends. Alistair, watching her, got the sense that she shared more of a delight to see her friends eat well than a need to keep everyone from grumbling.

After dinner, the nobility listened to the minstrels perform in a sitting room. Leliana took the opportunity to pull out her lute and join them in some of the songs she knew, and before long she had her own little group of admirers surrounding her. Alistair smiled at that; the Orlesian bard loved to perform, and would tell a story at the drop of a hat back in camp. It was nice to see her properly appreciated here. He settled back in a chair with a glass of wine and relaxed a little, letting the music swirl around him. There was a peace about this that he'd never felt before, a sense that all was right with the world.

No, not quite all. He looked around, realizing he hadn't seen Keladry's bright hair for a while. "Zevran, do you know where Keladry went?" he asked when he'd determined that his betrothed wasn't in the room anymore.

"I think she said something about moving her things," the elven assassin said.

"And you let her go alone?" Alistair asked, sitting up.

"She has a knack for disappearing when no one is looking," Zevran pointed out wryly. "I was lucky she told me where she was going, and I think she only did because she knew I would look for her otherwise."

"I see." Alistair closed his eyes for a minute. Then he got to his feet. "Do me a favor and tell Wynne I've gone to bed if she asks."

Zevran saluted with two fingers as he took Alistair's chair. "As you say, Your Majesty," he said lazily.

Alistair debated saying something, and shook his head a little as he headed for the stairs, his drink still in his hands. He had an idea where he'd find Keladry, and maybe she needed some help with her things.

He walked into his room and paused just inside the door, smiling at the picture in front of him. Keladry sat at his desk, her bare feet tucked under her and her head cradled in one hand. She was looking at something on the desk, tapping a quill pen against her lip. She looked over at him and smiled, her face softly lit by the candle's glow. "I thought I heard you coming," she said. "Hello, darling."

He walked to her side after closing the door and kissed the top of her head. "Hello, love," he replied. "Zevran told me you were moving your things?"

"I thought about asking you first," Keladry said. "But as the saying is, better to ask forgiveness than permission. Are you all right with me moving in here?"

Alistair snorted softly. "'Drea, if you hadn't already moved in, I would have moved you in tonight." He felt her relax, resting her head against his side, and he stroked her hair. "What are you working on?" he asked.

"I was writing in my journal," she said, motioning to the battered leather-bound book in question where it sat on the edge of the desk. He recognized it immediately; she'd written in it almost every night before sleeping. When questioned about her habit, she would only say that she thought it was important to record what happened as it happened. "Then I decided I should get that song I'm rewriting written down so I don't forget what I have so far."

"Oh, yes, I think I have the next few lines for you," Alistair said, brightening.

She sat upright and re-dipped her pen. "Go on," she urged.

He cleared his throat and sang the lines in his clear tenor:

"_No one told me_

_I was going to find you_

_Unexpected_

_What you did to my heart."_

Keladry was nodding in time to the rhythm as she wrote. When he finished, she looked up at him. "Nice!" she exclaimed. "It needs maybe two more lines to finish that verse…and the last word should rhyme with 'heart'."

"Hmm," Alistair said thoughtfully, leaning over her. "Well, you were the one who kept us going, even when I thought all hope was lost, and this verse is me singing to you, so let's try…" He sang softly, finding the tune with care,

"_When I lost hope_

_You were there to remind me"_

Keladry considered and grinned before singing, "_This is the start._" She nodded and wrote the words with quick care.

They spent the next couple hours wrangling over the chorus, which proved harder than either of them expected. They finally compromised on a form neither of them liked. But, as Keladry pointed out, it was a beginning. "And we'll take it to Leliana tomorrow," she said, standing and stretching. "I'm getting a headache. This song-writing thing is harder than it looks!"

Alistair chuckled in agreement as he walked behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. "Yes," he said in her ear as she leaned back against him. "And I have something rather more interesting we can do."

She grinned over her shoulder at him, her eyes sparkling. "Do you, now?" she asked innocently. "And what is that, I wonder?"

He bent a little and picked her up, tossing her lightly on the bed to give her a hint. "I daresay we can think of something between us," he said, crawling across the bed toward her.

Laughing, she sat up and kissed him gently. Between them, they came up with quite a few "somethings" to keep them busy to the dawn.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Leliana was quite impressed with what they'd come up with on their own, and said as much after she'd finished reading. "The first two verses scan well," she said, setting the paper down on the table. "But I can see you had some trouble with the chorus, yes?"

"Yes," Keladry sighed. "We're both used to different forms of music. He grew up with the Chant of Light as the primary source of music, and I grew up with minstrels like you passing through our lands."

"Not exactly like me, I hope," Leliana smiled.

"None of them were as beautiful," Keladry returned, winking at her friend. She had the sense that if things had been different, if she hadn't fallen in love with Alistair, something more than friendship might have grown between the Grey Warden and the bard. As it was, Keladry enjoyed flirting lightly with her sister-friend, and Leliana blushed so prettily.

"Flatterer," Leliana laughed. She looked at the paper again to cover her blushes. "I think I can help you with this," she added after a moment. "If you and Alistair have time later this evening, we can try it with music." That was acceptable to both Grey Wardens.

Evening found the three friends gathering in Leliana's comfortable room, with Jump as the unofficial fourth guest. Leliana scratched the dog behind his ears and gave him a bone before pulling out the lute Keladry had given her as a Satinalia gift. "All right, you said this song was set to an older tune?" she asked, settling into a comfortable chair.

"Yes," Keladry said as Jump sat on her feet. She sang a few lines of the older song, and Leliana nodded.

"Yes, I know it well," Leliana said, strumming a few chords. "All right, let's try what you have."

Thus began a week's worth of musical evenings. Between the three of them (and Jump's occasional barked contributions), they figured out the tricky bits in the chorus. Leliana helped them with the rhyming scheme in the third verse, and a bridge was created during a night of laughter as they teased each other back and forth. At last, Leliana leaned back in her chair and said, "My dears, I think we have a song."

Alistair and Keladry looked at each other and grinned. "That was much harder than I thought it would be," Keladry said apologetically. "Sorry to take so much time…"

"Don't be silly!" Leliana exclaimed. "I had fun, didn't you?"

"Yes," Keladry and Alistair chorused. "A lot of fun," Keladry added.

"Now…when do you want to perform it?" Leliana asked.

The Grey Wardens looked blankly at the bard. "What?" Keladry asked.

"Oh, you have to perform it!" Leliana exclaimed. "This is a fun little song, and it would be a shame to let it stay hidden between us three."

"Um…" Alistair looked at Keladry, blushing a little. "I'm not…so good at the performing thing."

Keladry considered a moment and shrugged. "It can't be as bad as facing down the Archdemon," she said. "But a small group, I think."

"That can be arranged," Leliana said with a smile. "Let's say a small performance tomorrow night? In the sitting room the minstrels like to use?" The Grey Wardens agreed.

The next night, Alistair tried to relax as his friends came into the sitting room and made themselves comfortable. Wynne settled herself in a comfortable armchair, kicking Zevran out of it by right of age and experience. Zevran sighed theatrically and sat on a couch next to Oghren. Alistair and Keladry claimed the other couch, with Leliana sitting in a chair beside them. "All right, we are all gathered," Leliana said softly.

Keladry sighed quietly to herself. Yes, all but the two companions they had lost after the battle with the Archdemon. Sten was on his way home even now; he had left after Alistair's coronation. And Morrigan…no one seemed to know where she had gone. She had vanished after the battle atop Fort Drakon, presumably carrying the child with the spirit of the Old God within her. Maker only knew how she was doing. While others didn't trust Morrigan (and Alistair outright hated her), Keladry felt they had formed a bond of friendship while traveling together. She missed Morrigan sometimes. There were times she could almost hear the mage's sarcastic comments in the back of her mind.

Unaware of Keladry's thoughts, the bard went on, "Alistair and Keladry have created a song they want to share with everyone before I take it and spread it abroad." Keladry looked at her friend with a raised eyebrow but didn't comment. Leliana plucked a few notes and looked at Keladry. "Would you like to explain the origins of this?"

Keladry cleared her throat and looked at her hands briefly. "Well, it started when I was stuck in bed for days on end," she said. "While drifting in and out of sleep, I heard music floating in from the street buskers. One of the songs that seemed very popular was that one about the sheep maid and the soldier, have you heard it?"

Her friends smiled, and Zevran laughed. "I am amazed that song was played on the open street," he said. "With small children and easily frightened animals about."

"To be fair," Wynne said, "small children might not understand the lyrics. Whoever wrote that song did a fair job shading the meaning."

"Well, I heard the song several dozen times while by myself," Keladry said dryly. "And I thought, wouldn't it be fun to have a clean version? That was where it started, and I had the whole first verse by Alistair's coronation."

"We came up with the second verse and the bones of the chorus afterward," Alistair said, "but hit a snag."

"That was when they came to me," Leliana said smoothly. "We have spent the last week creating this song, and I think it is good enough to rival any song sung by the common minstrels." She plucked a few more notes and began the introduction.

Keladry blew out a nervous breath. She didn't like performing, but these were her friends. More than that: after all they'd been through together, they were family. Surely they would give it a fair listen. She heard her cue and turned to Alistair as she began the first verse:

"_We were strangers_

_Starting out on a journey_

_Never dreaming_

_What we'd have to go through_

_Now here we are_

_And I'm suddenly standing_

_At the beginning with you."_

Alistair kept his gaze locked with hers, smiling into her eyes as she sang to him. For them, everyone else faded away. The music filled the silence as Alistair waited for his cue, then he sang:

"_No one told me_

_I was going to find you_

_Unexpected_

_What you did to my heart_

_When I lost hope_

_You were there to remind me…"_

Keladry joined in for the last line of the verse: "_This is the start."_ Together, they swept into the chorus:

"_And life is a road_

_And I want to keep going_

_Love is a river_

_I wanna keep flowing_

_Life is a road_

_Now and forever_

_Wonderful journey._

_I'll be there_

_When the world stops turning._

_I'll be there_

_When the storm is through._

_In the end I wanna be standing_

_At the beginning with you."_

Keladry took a breath and smiled as she began the third verse:

"_We were strangers_

_On a crazy adventure…"_

Alistair picked his cue up smoothly, coming in alone with the next lines:

"_Never dreaming_

_How our dreams would come true…"_

Keladry slipped into the tune with him, taking his hand in hers as they sang to each other:

"_Now here we stand_

_Unafraid of the future_

_At the beginning with you."_

Grinning at each other, they went through the chorus again. To Keladry's surprise, she heard Zevran's smooth baritone join them on a few lines, and Wynne's sweet soprano slipped in and out as the mage remembered the words.

Alistair raised his eyebrows at his betrothed and smiled wickedly. They both remembered the night of laughter and jokes that had created the bridge they were about to sing, and it was all Keladry could do to keep from laughing as they sang:

"_I knew there was somebody somewhere_

_Like me alone in the dark_

_Now I know my dream will live on_

_I've been waiting so long_

_Nothing's gonna tear us apart."_

As they went into the chorus again, Leliana joined them vocally, and Zevran remembered more of the words. Together with Wynne, they made quite a sweet-sounding group. The last time through the chorus, the Grey Wardens changed it a little spontaneously, using the bond of blood between them to sense where the other was going:

"_Life is a road and I wanna keep going_

_Love is a river I wanna keep going on..."_

Everyone but Alistair and Keladry fell silent; those who weren't Grey Wardens were unsure what direction this was going. Keladry took a quick breath and sang alone:

"_Starting out on a journey…"_

Then Alistair led out the normal chorus again, and the five friends finished together with a triumphant chord progression from Leliana. Wynne clapped, smiling warmly at the young Grey Wardens. "That was beautiful!" she exclaimed. "You simply must allow that to be sung elsewhere. This is such a wonderful expression of your journey and a celebration of your love."

Keladry smiled. "That was the intent behind it," she said, bowing her head a little. "I'm glad it came through so clearly."

"I am deeply touched," Zevran said gravely. Keladry looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He smiled. "I mean it! It is a lovely song."

"Sarcastic little bugger," Keladry said fondly.

Leliana broke up the impending argument by leading them into another song, one all of them knew. And that led into another group song. Then Wynne was persuaded to share one of the Dalish songs she'd learned from her apprentice. Then Oghren taught them a dwarven drinking song, and Keladry taught her friends a dance from Highever…and so it went through the night. Toward the end of the night, Keladry and Alistair were prevailed upon to sing the song they had written one more time, to close the night with laughter and love.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The weeks after Alistair's coronation went by swiftly. He spent much of his time getting a crash course in kingship from Arl Eamon, who had seen several generations of rulers come and go. When he wasn't holding Court or dealing with paperwork, he spent time with Keladry in the practice ring. Unfortunately for his mental health, he only got about an hour with her during the day. He felt bad for abandoning her so often.

She reassured him one night when he brought that up, telling him, "Darling, I'm a Teyrn's daughter. Father was only a step lower than you in authority, and I remember days when I didn't see him at all. Don't worry; I know how this works. It'll settle out sooner or later, and we'll have more time together."

He hoped she was right. Because if the rest of his reign was like the first two months, he was going to go completely insane.

One afternoon at the end of two months, Alistair got up from his chair and walked to the window. His study faced the practice ring, so at least he could watch Keladry practice, even when he couldn't be down there with her.

She was there now, looking rather smaller without her armor. She was training a small class of young warriors, so apparently she felt safe enough in just a tunic and trousers.

"Your Majesty?" Arl Eamon's voice called Alistair back to reality, and the young king sighed as he turned away from the window. "No, no need to come to me," Eamon added as he walked to Alistair's side. "Ah, Warden Keladry. She is an inspiration to the young women in the city who want to be warriors. I saw a little girl, maybe six years old, chasing her brother with a stick and shouting about killing the Archdemon." That made Alistair laugh.

"She has a knack for winning hearts," Alistair agreed.

Arl Eamon remained quiet a moment, watching Keladry correct a trainee's grip on a sword. After a moment, he turned to Alistair. "Speaking of Keladry, I had something to discuss with you," he said.

The young king looked at the older man, one eyebrow raised. "What about her?"

"You announced at your coronation that she is your betrothed, yes?" Eamon asked.

"Yes," Alistair said slowly. "I did. Is anyone disagreeing with my choice?"

"No," Eamon said with a wry smile. "Actually, for the nobles she may be the best choice available. She is noble-born, after all, and understands the demands of the Crown. You did hear what she told the tutor who was supposed to teach her about being Queen?"

Alistair smiled. "Yes. She has a quick wit about her, as quick as her swords."

"A useful thing for a future Queen," Eamon pointed out dryly. "And her father was a Teyrn. Short of you creating a new Teyrn with an adult daughter, there are few women of the right age who would be acceptable to the nobles. No, I actually wondered, on the behalf of the other nobles, when you plan to marry her and set her as your Queen?"

"We…haven't talked about that yet," Alistair admitted after a moment. "I've been so busy settling into the throne and my duties, I've barely had time to practice with her, let alone talk about anything so serious."

"I would recommend that you talk about it relatively soon," Eamon said. "The nobles are getting restless; they want a Queen and the traditional 'heir and a spare' for a sense of stability."

Alistair flushed a little, but kept his thoughts about that to himself. Maybe it wasn't best for Eamon to know that Grey Wardens traditionally had a really hard time conceiving, even when only one member of the couple was a Grey Warden. He had no idea if he and Keladry _could_ have children. But that would stay between the two of them for the moment. "Then I'll talk to her about that tonight," he said instead, smiling. "How long should a royal wedding take to plan?"

Eamon gave him a sideways look. "Even a normal wedding takes a month or longer to plan," he said wryly. "I would suggest taking four months or so to make sure everything is remembered. Besides, some of the guests will take some time to arrive. I would recommend inviting the Empress of Orlais, as a diplomatic gesture. I saw the letter from the Empress to Cailan; maybe this is a good time to begin making friendly gestures toward them."

The young king made an internal face. Sometimes, he really hated being king. He wanted to celebrate his wedding to Keladry in a way that was special to them, not as a way to score points with the Empress. But he had learned some lessons from Keladry; among them, when it was time to shut up and smile and nod. This was one of those times, so he smiled and nodded.

Eamon accepted that and, after a little more small talk, left Alistair alone with his thoughts. Alistair couldn't settle back to his work after that little discussion; he found himself drifting back to the window time and again. He watched Keladry finish her lesson with the trainees and don her armor for a real bout with several of the young knights who wanted to test their mettle against the Hero of Ferelden. Ten minutes later, he wandered back to the window in time to watch her thoroughly beat one of those knights. "That's it," Alistair muttered. He couldn't stay another moment indoors with his emotional state as it was. He pulled on a vest as he walked briskly out of his study and toward the practice ring.

Keladry was just finishing a bout with another knight when he arrived. He saw her head tip a little in his direction, as if she heard something approaching, something the others couldn't hear. She finished her bout, turned and knelt in one smooth motion. "Your Majesty," she greeted. The other fighters, taken completely off guard by their king's arrival, scrambled to follow her example.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Alistair said, motioning for them to rise. "I just came to see if I could steal my betrothed away for a little while."

Keladry looked at him with a twinkle in her eye as she rose. "I daresay you can," she said. "If my training partners have no objection?" No one did, of course; who was going to deny the king the ability to spend time with the woman he loved? They bowed and backed off as Keladry slipped her swords into their sheaths on her back.

"Would you walk with me a bit, love?" Alistair asked.

"Certainly," Keladry said, shedding her helmet and tucking it under her arm.

Side-by-side, they walked away from the practice rings, falling into the comfortable pace they'd developed in their travels. Keladry hummed to herself, and Alistair had to smile. She was humming the tune for the song they'd written. In the last month and a half, the song had spread like wildfire. Alistair suspected Leliana had something to do with that, but he didn't mind.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Keladry asked when they were some distance from the rings.

Alistair led her into the gardens and sat her on a bench. "Eamon came to talk to me today," he said, pacing a little.

"Something bad?" Keladry asked, folding her hands in her lap and watching him patiently. That was something he loved about her; she always knew when to be still and listen, and when questions helped direct his thinking.

"Not bad, exactly, but something that needs to be considered." Alistair ran his hands through his short hair, making it all stand on end. Keladry covered her mouth with her hand briefly, hiding a smile. "Eamon says the nobles want to know when we're getting married, and when you'll be stepping up as Queen officially."

Keladry blinked a moment. "That's all?" she asked.

"Sorry?" Alistair asked, stopping cold and looking at her.

"That's all that's troubling you?" Keladry elaborated, arching an eyebrow slightly.

"Well…yes, I suppose so," he said.

Keladry bounced lightly to her feet, already smiling that quick grin he loved so much. "I was afraid Eamon told you the nobles wanted me gone or something," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the bench. "A wedding? That's easy enough."

"Is it?" Alistair asked weakly, sitting down.

"Oh yes," she said, and Alistair saw she was almost giggling. "Weddings are very easy; there's just a metric ton of details to attend to. When do they want us married?"

"Eamon suggested within the next four months. Is there something you're not telling me?" Alistair looked at his betrothed curiously. While he always found her beautiful and feminine enough for him, right at the moment she reminded him of Leliana with the giggly girl expressions. The change was disconcerting.

"Ah, my poor confused Star," Keladry sighed. "Don't you know every little girl spends at least some time planning her wedding to the man of her dreams? Mine had more swords than lace, even when I was ten, but I've spent some time thinking about weddings."

"But…but this is to be a royal wedding," Alistair said, scrambling for mental footing. "Isn't that different?"

"Sure, a little," Keladry said with a shrug. "But I've thought about that before."

Alistair eyed her curiously. "When, may I ask?"

"Believe it or not, about five years ago," Keladry said, grinning. "When my father talked to me about the possibility of me marrying Cailan." Alistair choked, and Keladry laughed merrily. "What, did Fergus think I didn't know? Father wouldn't dream of considering something so important for his little girl without _asking_ me. I thought about it and decided I wasn't interested. So Cailan met and fell in love with Anora, and they wedded happily. But for a little while, I was planning a royal wedding for myself. And now I get to use all those little lists I wrote in my head."

Alistair relaxed with a sigh of relief. "And here I thought this was going to be an ordeal," he said. "All right, if you have it under control…"

"I think I do," Keladry agreed. She sighed. "Of course, that means I'll have to cut back on practicing, as the Seneschal and I will have many details to settle…"

"I daresay the knights you kicked into the dirt will appreciate the chance to apply a health poultice to their pride," Alistair said dryly.

Keladry opened her eyes wide innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about, my love," she said.

"Oh yes, you do," he said, chuckling. He rose and pulled her up after him. "Come, my dear. We'll settle the date, then announce it in Court tonight."

She groaned as she got up. "Do I have to dress up?" she asked, not quite whining.

"Unless you want to incite Leliana's wrath, I would suggest at least not showing up in armor," Alistair advised. "Admittedly, I think you look perfectly ravishing in your armor, but some of the nobles might disagree with me."

Keladry sighed. "All right, let's set the date, and I'll take a bath. Maker's breath, this nobility thing…" She shook her head, leaving that sentence prudently unfinished. Because what could either of them do? They were born to their duties.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The nobles took the announcement of Alistair's upcoming wedding with great joy, much to the young king's surprise. He supposed this meant Eamon was right, and the nobles had been straining for the reassurance a married monarch gave. Keladry had exceeded his hopes in that evening's Court, dressing in her simple dark blue dress with her hair braided neatly. Admittedly, she wore a white belt with Starfang at her side, silently reminding the nobles she was a fighter and had no intention of stopping that career, but since several of the female nobles were warriors in their own right, no one objected to her display of arms.

Afterward, Keladry spent long afternoons with the Seneschal, beginning to plan the wedding. Alistair tried to stay away from the office they'd taken over as their planning room; as the days progressed, swatches of fabric took over the walls, various styles of dishes filled the two tables they'd dragged in there, and sometimes there were heated arguments over the guest list. By and large, Alistair felt his time would be better spent away from the controlled chaos.

Instead, he focused on a project of his own, a secret he carefully concealed from Keladry. Usually keeping a secret from her was incredibly difficult; she had a way of asking questions or looking at a person to get the answers she wanted. But since she was focused on the wedding madness, she had less time for all the activities she enjoyed. Including noticing something was up with her betrothed, and that worked to Alistair's benefit.

He had discovered something about himself while working on the song with Keladry and Leliana; he liked writing songs, and liked the idea of putting huge amounts of emotion into a tune and carefully phrased lines of sung words. So while Keladry worked on the correct order of precedence in a royal wedding or got into arguments with cooks, he visited Leliana and explained what he wanted to do.

"You want to write another song?" Leliana asked when he brought the project to her with pleading puppy eyes. "Why?"

Alistair had been thinking about that for a while, knowing she might ask that. "Because all this wedding stuff…" he hesitated, thinking about how to phrase his thoughts. "Everything she's doing is for the King of Ferelden and the Hero of Ferelden. Which is important for the kingdom, and for the mental well-being of the nobles," that made Leliana laugh, and Alistair had to chuckle as well. "But there's not much that's for _us_, for Alistair and Keladry. I mean, she's bucking convention by wearing her armor…"

"She is?" Leliana asked. "Oh dear…I'll have to have a word with her about that."

"I think she's pretty stuck on that; she likes to remind everyone that she resembles that rose I gave her." Alistair smiled. "Beautiful, but with thorns that'll draw blood if you're not careful."

Leliana sighed. "Well, we shall see. So you want to write a song that's personal, a song that's for her and her alone." She nodded slowly, considering. "I think I can help you. Sit down, and we'll talk about what you want to say in this song of yours." She grinned as she sat in her comfortable playing chair and pulled out her lute. "This should be fun!"

Alistair sat, grinning. Yes, this was going to be fun.

Two days later, he had to remind himself that he'd asked for this, though he was finding it hard to believe that he'd asked for this mental torture. It wasn't that Leliana was asking him particularly hard questions, because she wasn't. Nor was it that he didn't know what to say to Keladry in the song, because he had put a lot of thought into the message of the song. The problem was that he couldn't seem to find a way to make the message come across in a way that was in his voice without making the song hard to sing.

They'd managed the first verse by now, barely, and Alistair had many occasions to wish he could pull Keladry into the creative process. She was the one who was good at things like this, not him. "Well, all the better when it does come together," he said, trying for a note of levity.

Leliana smiled. "That's the spirit!" she encouraged. "Now, let's try that chorus again…"

And while Keladry might have gotten suspicious with all the time Alistair spent with Leliana that week, frankly, she was just too busy with everything she'd taken on to notice much of anything. She saw Alistair in the morning when they woke up and in the evening when everyone gathered for dinner. Even after dinner, she would run off for a few minutes to nail down a detail (literally, in one case; she came back whistling with a hammer in her hand, and Alistair was afraid to ask) before returning to his bed for the night. So the king and the bard were able to put the song together in a way that was satisfactory for him and flowed well for her.

At last, after a week of musical afternoons, Leliana sat back in her chair and brushed her hair off her forehead. "Alistair, we have a song," she said, her eyes twinkling. "And if I may say so, it's very good."

"I'm sorry for the week of headaches this caused," Alistair said, slumping in his chair. "I had no idea how hard this would be."

"I did; I have been doing this for a while," Leliana pointed out with a smile. "And I daresay the finished song is quite worth it. So!" She strummed a chord on her lute. "When do you want to give it to her? May I suggest tonight?"

"Tonight? Why so soon?" Alistair asked.

"Tomorrow night, then," Leliana said. "I should think you will want musical accompaniment for your singing, and I need to go back to Orlais. I have only delayed this long to know when I must return for your wedding."

"Oh," Alistair said feebly. Of course he'd known Leliana was leaving at some point to deal with Marjolaine; the other bard was too dangerous to leave alone if Leliana wanted something of a peaceful life. But he had hoped she would stay longer and help mitigate the marriage madness.

Leliana read most of that on his face and laughed merrily. "Dear Alistair, I will be back long before you and your lovely bride take your vows. I will be here to help tie the last loose ends together, but right now, Keladry does not need me. She understands weddings, but has a blind spot when it comes to her own preparations. Which is fine; I will be back within two months, I think, and will be able to help her."

"Oh, good," Alistair said with a heartfelt sigh. "All right, then let's do this tonight."

Leliana smiled and gently picked out a tune with her fingertips. "Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "Yes, that will work just fine. Give me a signal when you're ready to present it to her. I would suggest giving it to her in your room."

"Why?" Alistair asked warily. There was something about the twinkle in the bard's eyes…

"I have seen men give songs to their beloveds before. Believe me when I say you'll want some…hmm, privacy." Alistair blushed bright red, and Leliana grinned. She glanced out the window. "Dinner should be served in a half hour. I would recommend catching her before she runs off for another round of errands after dinner."

Alistair agreed, and they spent the next fifteen minutes practicing the song several times. He knew how he got when he was nervous, and he didn't want to mess it up after all the work they'd done on this song.

Keladry was a little late to dinner, just about giving Alistair a heart attack. She had a knack sometimes for disappearing without warning, going off on some mission of do-gooding or hunting up bandits because she was bored. Alistair understood that well enough, but her habits scared him sometimes. But, ten minutes into dinner, she entered the dining hall and bowed deeply to the thrones before taking her seat at Alistair's right. "Sorry I'm late," she whispered, reaching over and taking his hand. "Jump got into something…interesting, and I had to get it off of him before the smell drove everyone out of the palace."

Alistair looked at her with a raised eyebrow and smiled as he squeezed her hand. "At least he didn't make you miss dinner entirely," he whispered back as the servers came to serve her. "Darling, do you have anything planned after dinner?"

She paused in the act of spearing a piece of meat with her knife and looked at him for a second, her eyebrow slightly raised. Then she finished taking what she wanted from the servers' trays and turned to him, giving him her full attention. "Surprisingly, no," she replied. "I thought I'd worked hard enough for a week and would give myself the night off from planning. Why?"

Alistair grinned. "Good, I have a surprise for you," he said.

"A surprise?" Keladry asked, arching an eyebrow. "Is this going to be a surprise like that night you blindfolded me and walked me into a marsh?"

"Hey!" Alistair protested, affecting a wounded expression. "My feet got wet too!"

"Not as wet as I got when I tripped and landed on my face in the muck," Keladry retorted.

"That was unintentional," he said, holding both hands up plaintively. "I just wanted you to see the sunset, and that was the best spot."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, half-smiling. At the time, she'd been furious; it had been a long day of fighting darkspawn and werewolves, and landing face-first in the mud had not been the best way to end the day. Now she could look back and laugh, especially when she remembered pulling him down to join her in the muck. And the sunset _had_ been pretty, all pink and purple and gold.

"Anyway, unless something goes very badly wrong, this surprise should be much better than that one," Alistair said.

"All right. Where do you need me to be, and when?" she asked, cutting her meat into neat chunks.

"After dinner, in our room." She looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow, and he smiled. "That's all you're getting out of me," he said.

"Really?" she half-purred, leaning a little closer to him. Under the cover of the table, her fingers reached over and lightly tickled his side. He jumped and barely managed to keep from yelping.

"'Drea," he said, reaching down and catching her hand. "Darling, no, don't torture me like that here, please…"

She laughed and turned her hand in his, squeezing his gently before going back to her meal. "Oh, all right," she sighed. "But rest assured, I will be in our room directly after dinner. My curiosity is piqued."

He grinned at her. "Oh good. I hope it doesn't disappoint."


End file.
